


Pleasant-Tasting Are Strawberries And Your Lips

by PlaneJane



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane





	Pleasant-Tasting Are Strawberries And Your Lips

**Title** : Pleasant-Tasting Are Strawberries And Your Lips  
 **Author:** [](http://planejane.livejournal.com/profile)[**planejane**](http://planejane.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Marcus/Esca (The Eagle/Eagle of the Ninth)  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Word Count:** 1500  
 **Summary/A/N:** Originally written and posted at [here](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/752.html?thread=236272#t236272) on [](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**the_eagle_kink**](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/) , for [](http://carmarthen.livejournal.com/profile)[**carmarthen**](http://carmarthen.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: _Apparently the Romans were really big on kissing and kind of responsible for a lot of its European popularity. Esca thinks this Roman custom sounds very weird and not all that appealing; Marcus demonstrates otherwise._

 

  
Marcus is reading. Actually, he isn’t reading per se. The scroll in his hands happens to be unrolled at the top. Truth be told, Marcus is watching Esca, polishing a silver serving platter.

The edge of the platter is balanced on Esca’s pulled-up knees; his brows are furrowed in concentration and, with a soft cloth in his hand, his fist jerks back and forth over one edge. He must be working on a particularly tarnished spot.

Marcus looks back down at the words swimming in front of his eyes like they’ve broken free of the parchment. The dappled shadows in the courtyard move back and forth with the breeze and the swaying honeysuckle wafts fragrant waves of perfume. Marcus should be content, but Esca is a distraction in more ways than one, sweating his task on the stone bench before him.

The next time Marcus glances up, Esca’s tongue is poking out between his lips, like a child labouring over a difficult sum. His mind is either completely on the platter or completely somewhere else. Marcus has more than a care to know. Uncle Aquila said Marcus needed to broaden his horizons, pointing him in the direction of the _Saturae_ before he left for Calleva, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat, after all.

“A sesterce for your thoughts.”

Esca pauses and glares at Marcus, his brows still knitted and his eyes narrow.

“What do I need with a sesterce?”

“I don’t know.”

Admittedly, it was a stupid thing to say to a slave. Marcus only meant it as a figure of speech and is about to say as much when Esca adds, “Do you have a sesterce to give me?”

“Not right here, but --”

“A sesterce wouldn’t buy me a kiss from a poxy whore, and even if it did I should think it a sesterce wasted.”

Marcus is shocked - not at Esca’s vulgar words as much as the way he spits them out. And what does he know of kisses? He’s already gone to great pains to tell Marcus it is a Roman preoccupation - and one of their more ridiculous ones at that.

“A kiss is never a waste,” Marcus retorts, sullen.

“Pah.”

Esca goes back to his polishing. Marcus has no hope of getting back to his reading. Sweat bristles over the back of his neck and he’s thirsty. He should ask, _tell_ Esca to get him a drink, but he doesn’t: he gets up and heads inside to the kitchen, to where he knows there’s a bowl of woodland strawberries sitting on the table under a wet cloth.

**********

Esca watches Marcus leave and scowls.

Last night he dreamt in Latin. It isn’t the first time it’s happened – he even thinks in Latin most of the time when he’s awake. What annoys Esca more is that he’s starting to forget the face of his father and his mother; the taste of her bread and the sound of her singing as she worked.

And now Marcus, always full of ill-thought-out good intentions, looking at him like that, always staring like he wants more. Isn’t Esca’s life enough? Sometimes Esca wants to punch his handsome face and rip up those scrolls and obliterate all that is Roman. Only the Romans aren’t ever going to disappear, not with their roads and mosaics and aqueducts and scrolls. Everything about them, everything they make is made to last. There are no scrolls by which to remember the Brigantes, no mosaics depicting his father pulling the plough or lovers jumping through the Beltane fire.

Esca can hear Marcus shuffling back. He doesn’t look up.

“I think you’ve worked up a decent enough shine," Marcus remarks. "I can see your face in that.”

It's true - when Esca focuses on his reflection he can see himself, Cunoval’s serious son: smaller and more wily than his brothers, and just like his mother. He misses all of them. If it weren’t for his frown he could see his mother in his eyes.

Esca puts the platter aside. “I have two more to do.”

“Take a break. I brought you some strawberries.”

Marcus sits down next to Esca, holding out a small dish piled high with the round, scarlet sun-ripe berries. Esca takes one and bites into the warm flesh.

“Have them all – I brought these out for you.”

They’re juicy, delicious; taste of the promise of summer and for the time being dissolve away the bitter taste from Esca’s mouth.

Esca looks at Marcus looking at him. Marcus' lips are stained red.

**********

Marcus can't draw his eyes away from Esca’s lips. They glisten as his tongue darts out to swipe away an errant drop of juice. He follows his tongue with the back of his hand.

The sweet fruit scent fills the space between them and Marcus feels his heartbeat go from a canter to a gallop.

With one deep, steadying breath, Marcus takes Esca’s hand, presses a kiss to the top of his palm and another to his fingers. The lingering smell and taste of the strawberries caress his lips; the warmth of Esca’s skin sets his cheeks aflame.

Esca doesn’t move a muscle, though Marcus may have heard his breath falter over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. Esca probably doesn’t understand the meaning of the gesture. Marcus should articulate his apology but it won’t leave his mouth. Far easier, it seems, as Esca moves his gaze upwards, to lean in and kiss Esca briefly, chastely on the lips.

When Marcus pulls back, Esca’s frown is replaced with something else - wonder perhaps. Marcus cautiously kisses him again and when Esca doesn’t appear to object, emboldened, he moves in once more, for a third time. It is this time that Esca moves, edging in closer, resting his palm on the small of Marcus’ back and closes his eyes as if in anticipation of more contact.

As Marcus’ lips meet Esca’s, as he gently tightens his mouth, he feels Esca do the same. Esca’s lashes flutter against his cheek, softer than butterfly wings. Marcus’ eyes fall closed, his heart leaps and the small wooden bowl slips from his grasp.

**********

Esca can taste and smell the strawberries on Marcus’ lips, and his spit and his skin. It’s not entirely unpleasant. They’re as close as lovers, and it’s been so long that anyone has touched, _soothed_ Esca like this. He’s craved it, every now and then: not the rub and heat of passion but this quiet affection. It’s not unexpected that it's Marcus, only that he gives it now when Esca was so surly not heartbeats ago.

Esca wonders - are they meant to stay like this, lips locked, pressing back and forth? He offers a fleeting kiss of his own to the corner of Marcus’ mouth. In the next breath, Marcus’ lips part and his hands slide under Esca’s jaw, his fingers tickling the backs of Esca's ears, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. As if that’s not enough to take Esca’s breath away, he feels Marcus’ tongue swipe across his mouth and dip inside it, touching his tongue, drinking his spit!

The world tips over on its side. Esca knows what this is. And since when did Marcus presume to coax him for a lover? He could laugh out loud that Marcus has finally found the balls to ask in his own muddled, Roman way. He’s probably a bundle of nerves, half expecting Esca to push him off. Despite all his grievances, Esca has no mind to do that, doesn't want to. He responds with ardour to Marcus’ embrace, delving his tongue into the wetness of the inside of Marcus’ mouth, running his tongue along the line of Marcus’ perfect white teeth, withdrawing and nipping at his lower lip.

Marcus makes a noise, a high-pitched gasp in the back of his throat. Esca’s eyes open to see Marcus blushing over the tops of his cheeks. Clearly this kissing has a profound effect on the Romans, or on Marcus, at least. Esca moves in and kisses Marcus again, using his tongue more surely, feeling out every soft contour while in return Marcus’ tongue laps and swipes. Esca is lost to this new experience: all other sensations are overtaken by the feel and taste of Marcus’ mouth, to the needy noises he’s making, to the way his fingers cling and twist into Esca’s neck and hair.

It doesn’t feel like possession. It feels like Marcus is hanging on, like Esca is holding him at the top of a high cliff and if he lets him go, Marcus might plummet. If only Marcus knew, Esca feels like he can carry him and fly.

They stop for breath. They hardly draw apart.

More than ever, Esca wants to know if Marcus makes the same noises when he falls apart at the hands of a lover. And fancies he may yet get to find out.

He will also concede that quite possibly the Romans are onto something with these kisses.

That doesn’t mean Esca’s going to tell Marcus - he'll let him find out the hard way.

 

End  



End file.
